She crept towards the hospital wing under the cover of a Disillusionment Charm, taking one slow step at a time. She'd watched the patrols on the Map last night and she thought she had a good chance at a clear run, as long as she was back in her bed by 3am. Harry's cloak would have been more effective, but if she had asked to borrow it he would have been full of questions. And he wouldn't like the answers. She'd thought about smuggling it out of his dorm room, but her conscience had thwarted her. She had done a practice run back in their fifth year. It had been an easy heist. Harry was pretty careless when it came to securing his possessions. She had no plans to steal from Harry. She'd just needed to know that she could do it, in an emergency-type situation. Harry wouldn't begrudge her that. He was involved in an emergency every other week. But using the cloak would just implicate Harry if she were caught. She could pull this off on her own.

She made it to the hospital wing without seeing a soul. She cast a noise-dampening spell on the doors then pushed them open. She braced herself for the creak that never came. The stark white sheets and curtains looked eerie in the dark. She had always found it hard to sleep here, after her petrification. It was creepy, knowing that she had been frozen on one of these beds, in a state worse than a coma. She had thought to face that during her fourth year, when she agreed to be the bait for the underwater challenge in the Triwizard Tournament. It had only made it worse. When she slept, there was a part of her that worried that she wouldn't wake up again. So she had found a way to get by on less sleep and now she had a slightly shorter temper to compensate for it. She spent the extra time studying and making emergency plans. Without it, she would have had to give up on one or the other. As seriously as she took her studies, even she had to admit that survival was more important. Luckily, for now, she had time for both. So she spent half of her nights lying in bed, making plans for worst-case scenarios, plans that she hoped would be unnecessary. This plan was one of her shakier ones. It relied on the word of a ghost, on her ability to bluff, on her feeble understanding of the entire situation. The gaps in her knowledge were huge. But time was of the essence, so she had to enact the first phase of her plan tonight, come what may.

Through the shadows she could see that there was one bed on the far side of the room with the curtains drawn around it. The other beds were all empty. She pushed the curtain aside and found her target lying on the cot, sound asleep. She'd thought that Malfoy would be even paler than usual, but his complexion was almost rosy, probably a side-effect from blood replenishment potions. There were bandages poking out from the neck of his hospital gown. She recognised the high-grade bandages made from unicorn hair. That suggested that the cuts were deep and magic-resistant. There would likely be scarring. She shuddered. Harry's description of the mystery Sectumsempra curse had been haunting.

She placed her letter on the bedside table and turned to leave. As she let the curtain flutter down behind her, Malfoy jerked awake. She heard a noise that she was familiar with, a noise that was a cross between a sigh and a sob. Ginny made that same noise when she woke up from nightmares. At first, Hermione had interpreted it as relief that the nightmare wasn't real. One night at Grimmauld Place two summers ago, Ginny had corrected her. It was actually despair that the nightmare had been real, that it would be engraved in her past no matter how many times she woke up from it. Now the noise made Hermione hesitate. Her instinctual reaction to that noise was to comfort, to soothe. But her brain chimed in that it was Malfoy, not Ginny, behind the curtain and he wouldn't find her presence at all soothing. She had a plan. Leave the letter, come back tomorrow night with her big speech.

"Who's there?" Malfoy called out. His voice was shaking. She whispered a spell so that she could see through the curtain. He didn't pull out a wand, so she assumed that it had been confiscated. He cowered back against the pillow.

"Hermione Granger," she answered. He was obviously fearing something far worse than her. It would be cruel to leave him lying there in paranoia.

His face turned towards her location with pinpoint accuracy. Seeker senses. "Prove it."

She considered it for a moment. There was no one else around. A quick Homenum Revelio confirmed that. If anyone did see her, what could they accuse her of? Seeking out medical help in the middle of the night? She could feign a migraine if necessary. There was no real security reason to stay hidden.

Still, she hesitated. There was just so much more power in being invisible. Malfoy wouldn't be able to read her expression, wouldn't be able to sense when one of his barbs struck deep. She would have the upper hand. But Malfoy was lying there in front of her, weak and afraid. She already had the upper hand and she didn't find any satisfaction in it at all. She sighed and tapped her head with her wand to deactivate the Disillusionment Charm.

Malfoy attempted a feeble smirk that wasn't fooling anyone. "Here to gloat over Potter's handiwork?" He gestured to the bandages. "Or point out his sloppy aim? I'm sure if it had been you wielding the wand, I would have been dead on the spot. How would you have done it? A slash to the heart? Decapitation?"

"I have a letter for you. From Moaning Myrtle." After his jibe, she took immense pleasure from the look of horror on his face.

"Ghosts can't write letters."

"No, but they can dictate a message. She begged me to write it out for her. And I did, word for word. Myrtle is quite the poet."

"Why? Why would you… just why?"

"Myrtle and I go way back. I was sympathetic to her plight." After she and Myrtle had shared a few rounds of catty insults, the two of them had a real conversation. It had been illuminating.

"You're making this up. What's really in the envelope?" He poked at it tentatively.

"That envelope contains a genuine letter from Moaning Myrtle to Draco Malfoy."

He let out a burst of laughter. There was a hysterical edge to it. His face was animated now, made up of moving parts. There was a lopsided curl to his lip, his eyebrows jumped up and down, his chin wobbled. It made his patented sneer seem like nothing at all in comparison, just a muscle twitch. It was ugly. It was entrancing. She realised that since the school year started, he had been like a slab of granite. That was what Harry had seen and what she had chosen to ignore. She had been stubbornly determined to study for her N.E. with laser-like intensity, before something happened to get in her way. She had been relieved at Malfoy's uncharacteristic silence. At his imitation of a statue.

But now he was flesh and blood again. She had done that. She had brought Draco Malfoy back to life. Or killed him, depending on your perspective. She found it hard to believe that this was the same boy she had spent the last six years despising.

It was over far too soon. The sound of laughter cut off abruptly and a crinkle formed between his brows. It was a deep crinkle. He must have been thinking hard lately. It was the very same crinkle she got when she was making an unwelcome leap of logic. A painful epiphany. She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind. Why would Hermione Granger show up in the hospital wing just to tease him with a love letter from a ghost? They didn't have a pranking type of relationship. Their verbal sparring was meant to wound. It was never in good fun. It was meant to provoke laughter from bystanders, not from the target.

Hermione waited for the bomb to drop, but seconds ticked by and he just sat there frowning and frowning, unable to puzzle her out. She gave into her impatience. He wasn't getting there on his own. The healing potions were probably messing with this brain. "Myrtle and I talked for hours. She wanted the letter to be perfect."

He reached for the letter but she slapped his hand away. The letter was just a prop. He was missing her point. "She gets lonely in that old bathroom. It was easy to coax the words out of her. She likes to hear the sound of her own voice. Or any voice. She was ecstatic when you started confiding in her."

The frown turned into a glare. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot. Despite the hospital gown, he looked aggressive with his feet planted on the ground. He looked dangerous. But she had already known he was, when she entered the room. Harry had told her about the failed Cruciatus Curse Malfoy had shot at him. She was dangerous too. She wouldn't be intimidated.

"You don't know anything," he whispered harshly. "You're just like Potter. Waving his wand around in the dark. Guess his mummy never warned him about that. It's how silly wizards poke their own eyes out."

Hermione made sure to keep her voice level and calm. She wasn't Harry. She wasn't going to let this conversation escalate out of her control. "You were indiscreet. You told Myrtle enough for her to put two and two together. She knows your allegiance and she knows that you're working on something for your new master."

"Who's going to listen to a batty ghost?"

"Dumbledore. Myrtle told me that she had a nice long chat with him."

"Words don't prove anything. You can't use Veritaserum on a ghost."

"Dumbledore isn't naive enough to miss the opportunity to check an unconscious boy for a dark mark."

Malfoy rolled up the sleeve of his nightgown and thrust out his unblemished arm. "What mark?"

Hermione shook her head. "Do you really think there's a concealment charm that Dumbledore couldn't crack?"

"Then why am I here? Why aren't I in a cosy cell in Azkaban?"

"I don't know. But you should be."

"You aren't going to preach to me about love and redemption? Tell me that I'm good and pure and light and blah blah blah?"

"No. You're a petty vindictive little boy with the brains of a rock. You joined a merry band of murderers with a cause you don't even believe in. Why? For a few cool points from your Slytherin buddies?"

"You can't tell me what I believe in. Your kind are dirt. Scum. Lower than-"

In one smooth movement she was perched on the edge of the cot and her lips were swallowing up the hateful words. It was a feather-light kiss, the barest touch. He had stopped breathing and so had she. Without conscious thought, her left hand had gravitated to where his was lying flat on the bed and now their two fists were clenched together, his trapped inside hers. She was squeezing tightly, sending all of the power that her lips were holding back into that grip. She lingered, counting down. She would give him five seconds to respond. Five, four-

His arm snapped around her waist and pulled her in. His lips opened against hers and then his tongue was in her mouth. Draco Malfoy's tongue was in her mouth. She wanted to freak out about that for an eternity or two, but his was so nimble and skilful that all she could do was enjoy the sensation. In contrast, his hand was clumsy and he had to keep readjusting his grip on her hip as it slipped. She realised it was her fault for imprisoning his other hand and so she let go. Her hand felt numb, so it wasn't enough to keep her weight balanced. She felt herself tipping backwards over the edge of the bed. There was a split second where she knew that she could grab the rail with her other hand, but she made the choice not to. The kiss needed to end before she lost her wits completely and ruined all her careful planning. She made the choice to fall. She was able to swing her legs underneath her and brace her shoulder against the cot, so the impact when she hit the floor was light. She barely felt any pain, just a slight ache in her left knee.

She breathed heavily for a few moments before rising back to her feet. Malfoy had turned his back towards her, so she couldn't read his expression. She was grateful, because it worked both ways and he couldn't read hers.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"I was proving my point."

He flipped over. She wasn't sure what he had been feeling ten seconds ago, but now all that she could see was anger. "Your point?"

"A true believer wouldn't kiss a Mudblood like that."

He rolled his eyes. "That proves nothing. Don't be so naïve. Lust has nothing to do with the brain…"

"It has everything to do with it. But this is about more than just lust. I have six years' worth of anecdotal evidence. You know I'm smart. Smarter than you. You can't deny that with a straight face. If you could, you would have by now. It's not like you to leave an insult unsaid." She paused, giving him room for the denial, and smirked triumphantly when it didn't come. "And you know that I'm as human as you are. It's all over your face, right now. You can't know those things about me and really, truly, believe in the inferiority of Muggleborns. Ergo, you're a hypocrite and you don't believe the nonsense you spouted earlier."

"You weren't sure of that before you kissed me. That was all over your face."

She shrugged. "Hence the need for the experiment."

"A shining display of Gryffindor stupidity. I could have cursed you."

"You don't have your wand." She flipped hers over in her hand. "But I have mine. I was prepared."

He scoffed. "You aren't some femme fatale. You wouldn't have used that on me."

"I would have if I needed to. You know that about me as well."

"So now that you've finished your assault, can I go back to sleep?"

"I'm not finished yet Draco." She moved closer to the cot and closed the curtains behind her. It was well past her safe window now and someone could walk by on patrol at any moment. She didn't want any interruptions. "I'm here because I wanted you to know that I know. If you even think about harming a hair on another head in this castle, I'll be there to thwart you."

He looked down at the bed sheets, twisting them tightly in his hands. "I don't have a choice."

She reached out a hand and gently lifted his head so that she could hold his gaze. His eyes were suspiciously moist. He had just been through a near-death experience and she was sure it had been a hellish year for him before that. But she couldn't afford to grant him the mercy of letting him look away. He needed to really hear her. "You're right. You don't have a choice about this. Your task, whatever it was, is over. Dead in the water. All you can do now is bury it and move on."

"You don't know what he'll do to me. To my mother."

"I know what he'll do to our world if he rises to power. You don't want to be responsible for that. And now that I know about your dark mark, I can't be responsible for that." And no matter what platitudes she had given Harry to shut him up, she couldn't trust blindly in the system, in the school or the in the order. Last year, with Umbridge, the system had spiralled so dangerously out of control that it made her dizzy. So she was taking on the responsibility for this and she meant to see it through.

He let out a sob and broke free of her grip. He turned his head into the pillow.

"Draco," she said, "There are people who will help you. All you have to do is ask. I'll ask for you, if that makes it easier. I can't promise that everything will be okay, but it will be better than the alternative. You'll thank for me for this in the long run."

There was no response, just more muffled sobs.

"Take some time to think about it. And read the letter. It really is from Moaning Myrtle. She acts like an airhead sometimes, but she has hidden depths. She knows pain and suffering. She's witnessed more than her fair share of it. It seems to gravitate towards bathrooms, as we both know. She has a unique perspective on all of this. She was a Muggleborn, murdered in the school where she should have felt safe, one of the first casualties to Voldemort's madness."

He shifted on the bed. "Most of the ghosts in the castle were murdered. Everyone has a sob story."

"Don't be a jerk. It's getting old. She sees something in you, something that I couldn't see before. Someone who can get past this pain with their soul intact. I promised her that I would make sure you do. That was her price for breaking her silence. Don't be too hard on her for that. She may have just saved your life."

She left Malfoy to think over his fate. They would have time to talk things over later. If he thought she was a force to be reckoned with when she was against him, he would soon see that she could be even more of a force to be reckoned with when they were on the same side. Harry and Ron would attest to that. And they would be on the same side. Even if she had to drag him kicking and screaming.

On the long walk back to her dormitory, she tried to work out whether her plan had been a success or not. She had delivered Myrtle's message. She had delivered her own message. Within the space of an hour, she had heard Malfoy laugh and cry. She had kissed and threatened him. She had broken him down, but maybe she had left him with some hope. It would be a burden. Hope meant that you had to try harder, fight harder. Myrtle had burdened her with hope and now she had passed it on to Malfoy. Between the three of them, maybe they could find a way to make it count.